Nightmare
by Nell Vance
Summary: Vampires do not sleep, but can they dream? Jane finds out the hard way.
1. Part One Nightmare

**Author's Note:** Although Aro/Sulpicia will always be my favorite pairing, I thought I'd try my hand at some angsty Jane/Aro. Please review if you have a free moment. I'd love to hear your opinion. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Nightmare**

Jane screamed. She opened her mouth wide until her jaws ached with the effort and let the sound spill from her soul into the musty dankness of her tower room. It had been coming for some time, she realized, as the darkness of the centuries boiled and brewed within her, as she remembered what a monster she was.

Her eternal visage, sweetened with Botticelli innocence, brought her to the brink of insanity… only to snatch her back into the painful realism of the world.

In her mind, she heard the tiny voice of her fear, insistent, persuasive.

_You are alone. Remember that Jane, alone._

And Jane screamed, releasing the shadows inside her so that they might haunt the night and not her heart.

The brisk knock on the door stopped her. Sinking back down into an uneasy silence, she forced a breath through her clenched teeth and balled her fingers into fists.

Someone had heard her.

Of course. She shouldn't be surprised. Volturi Castle was a cavernous place, prone to echoes. The walls alone could whisper of decadence and the ill deeds begotten in unwatched corridors.

Shame flooded her. Feeling weak-kneed, she sank to the floor beside her dresser and sat there limply. With vampire ears being what they were, it wouldn't be long before the entire coven was alerted to her anguish.

But oh, she hadn't meant them to hear…

The door opened.

"Jane, my dear one, are you quite all right?" It was Aro, his face a smiling crescent as the light from a candle drew silhouettes over the lower planes of his countenance.

She had disturbed him, that was clear. His ebony hair was completely undone, loosed and falling around his shoulders in charming disarray. The collar of his black shirt was open.

_What could he have been doing? _Jane wondered. _Certainly not sleeping._

Then a thought occurred to her. She imagined his wife, Sulpicia, with her fingers nested in her husband's hair, her lips trailing careful kisses down his bare chest. And he would be smiling at his mate, smiling…

Jane found herself wincing, as she was prone to do whenever she thought of Sulpicia with him.

Aro's grin wavered as he set his candle down on top of her bookshelf.

"Darling, what is it?" He reached forward one elegant hand to touch her hair.

She flinched and pulled away. "I am sorry, Master."

"You're trembling, child."

Child! The word stung her. Gnawed at her sanity with all the eagerness of fire. Jane felt her practiced bravado crumbling. "I had a nightmare," she managed to mumble.

Aro's scarlet eyes narrowed with concern and curiosity. He uttered a breathless laugh, balancing one hand on his hip.

Jane understood his bemusement. Although habits from human life often carried over into immortality, the need for sleep was not one of them. And those who could not sleep could certainly not dream.

"It was a waking nightmare," she tried to explain, a sharp lump lodging in her throat and shredding her vocal cords until they threatened to bleed sobs. "A fleeting vision of the surreal. A…a memory." And despite her careful stoicism, she found herself shaking anew.

Now Aro's concern was less of a fancy and more of a grim realization. Jane saw it in the way his soft lips folded into a frown. He leaned closer and in a rush, she caught his scent fully. It was pure, not dead, not decaying and she smelled him in the softness of the autumn evening, spiced with fallen leaves and fertile soil.

Once more, he reached for her and this time, Jane let him touch her chin. Gently, he lifted her head so that their eyes met. Her body relaxed under his tolerant touch.

Readily, she opened her mind to him and gave him a glimpse of her nightmare. It had chased her, this dream, up and down the varied landscape of her mind. And now in the bold light of the candle, a shadow of it lingered, taunting her.

"You dreamt of the fire," Aro said softly, the candle flickering as his breath teased the small flame. "You dreamt of the night the villagers took you and your brother to the forest to watch you die. To watch you burn."

Jane clutched her right hand over her wrist, remembering the agony of the hemp ropes lashed about her. But that was not all..

Aro dropped his hand to her throat, fingering her jaw.

He saw then that she hated herself. What she had become. What he had made her.

His hand moved away and his eyes were hard.

"Jane," he began, "I am sorry."

His words, so very simple, brought on a torrent of emotion. Jane was its victim, its plaything and she was tossed about on a wave of unforgiving regret.

_You are alone, Jane. Always alone_, reason reminded her.

But this time, she fought cool logic.

This night, this moment, was theirs. And in that space, that precious brief space, she believed he was hers.

She wanted to tell him so, to have him sweep her into his arms and revel with her in forbidden joys. But Jane knew she was powerless, a wordless fool.

Aro must have sensed her desperation, for he leaned forward, gathering her in his wiry arms in an embrace she prayed would never end.

She let herself go, every thought, every wish, every sacred dream that had supported her soul over the centuries. And he would then, know that she forever and always loved only him.

It would be a relief for him to understand, to feel her as she was meant to be felt. Jane decided then and there to never shy from him again.

And she let him have every one of her thoughts. Her desires.

Suddenly, his arms slackened. "Jane?" He pulled away, an unanswerable question causing his face to tighten.

She kissed him, her lips finding their rightful place on his and lingering sweetly. The candle wept ivory wax and for an instant, the light flared. The darkness about them ebbed…

…until Aro pushed her away.

"Jane?" He was on his feet in a flash, all fluid grace and control.

"Master." Jane reached for him, hoping he would take her hands.

Aro's mouth opened slightly and he ran a hand through his hair. "That was… inappropriate of you."

"Please." She was begging him, on her knees.

"This is unfortunate," he replied. She had never seen him so undone before. Lost, really.

_He thinks I have betrayed him_, she thought wildly. _And perhaps I have._

Aro reached for the candle and she noticed his hand was trembling.

"You are confused," he told her sharply. "Rest now and we will discuss this in the morning."

_The morning_, she mused, _when the sun can bleach away your uncertainty._

_But not mine._

She knew then that he would leave her, because, oh, because he had never been hers.

Only in a dream. In a nightmare.

He was gone, taking the light with him. The darkness fell back upon her like a pall.

And Jane screamed.


	2. Part Two Daydream

**Author's Note:** After much debate, I decided to post a continuation to this story. I am still considering a third installment, although I have no set plans at the moment. I'd like to thank everyone who took the time read/favorite/review the first part. Your feedback was invaluable. And if you have a free moment, please leave a review for the second installment. I would absolutely love to hear from you. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Daydream**

Jane knew he was angry with her. It was evident in the line of his lips, the arch of his lithe shoulders.

Aro was sitting, cross-legged, watching her. His eyes were black.

Jane tried to hold his gaze, but found her chin dipping towards her chest. After years of practice and restraint, her stoicism was flagging, leaving her thrashing about in a murky pool of mistrust and self-doubt.

She surfaced for air. Took a deep breath. Her hands were folded, _clenched_, tightly around her middle, just below her flat chest. It was her body's subconscious way of keeping the pain in, the boring, unending pain of a broken heart.

And still he watched her.

"Why have you done this, Jane?" His accusation swept over her, his words soft, a calculated hiss.

She shook her head. How could she explain herself to him? Her mouth was still tender from their kiss, still longing for the sweet impress of his lips on hers. And the thirst would not abate, would never abate so long as she denied the truth.

A pause, then, "I love you, master."

There it was, that dangerous sentiment. Hanging in the air. Dead. Limp. Unanswered. The sickness roiled around Jane's gut. She had hoped to release it by confessing her sin to him, purging the infection of its pus until new blood flowed to the macerated flesh.

But oh, she was bleeding now. Black, putrid bile. And it made her tremble.

Quickly, Jane glanced at Aro's face to gauge his reaction and was surprised to see discomfort tightening his countenance.

_How strangely exciting_, she thought, _to watch the stoic squirm.*_

His hands were resting on the arms of his chair, fingertips drumming out a plain staccato on the ebony wood. The sound echoed throughout the empty atrium, as unwanted and unexpected as the heartbeat of a dead man.

"I will not accept that," Aro replied. He was transformed into a statue of marble. Cold. Unfeeling.

But Jane saw beneath his defense. Saw the throb of uncertainty.

She held her head high. "I am not sorry."

His eyes widened, the pupils nearly eclipsing the white. The blue veins along his jaw line tightened. "Jane," he growled.

"I had to tell you, master."

"This is inappropriate."

"Indeed, it is." She was deliberately vague, fanning her hands out over her androgynous body.

_You did this to me. _

Aro shifted, and she sensed his rising guilt. Perhaps now he might begin to understand.

"I love you, master," Jane repeated. She wanted him to hear it with a clear mind, with no premeditated intrigue or indifference blocking his thoughts.

Aro considered her. There was no mistaking the sentimentality that shaped his features. She was his treasure. Always had been. The jewel of his collection. His _dear one._

But all that was changing now, slipping through Jane's hands like smoke. The hourglass was cracked. The sand rushing away.

He stood, pushed himself away from his chair and rose up to his full height. Her master was intimidating, or so Jane thought at that very moment. Black hair spilled down his shoulders, his features were deceptively kind. But he could kill her…if he wanted to.

She stood her ground.

"This is not allowed," Aro said. He was stepping down off the dais that supported his chair, along with the thrones of his brothers. "You have disobeyed me, Jane."

She said nothing. Perhaps he was right. She _had_ disobeyed him, destroyed the trust he had placed in her. A nagging notion leapt to life in her mind.

"Will you tell Sulpicia?"

He stopped where he stood, halfway down the stone steps. They met each other's gaze and held it.

_No. She must never know._

For the first time, Jane felt the pinch of shame and fear. Sulpicia, that wild, restless woman. Aro's wife. His lover.

And Aro did love her…as did Jane.

Sulpicia was not a quiet, biddable figure like the other wives, but a raging gale. A storm that swept over the plains with all the fury of Persephone embodied in ivory flesh and dancing, crimson eyes. She had taught Jane everything. How to fight. How to kill. And how to find victory.

But would Sulpicia want her to be victorious now?

Jane doubted it.

Aro understood this better than anyone, but he would not acknowledge it. Instead, he circled Jane carefully, hands entwined behind his back.

"Do you wish me to lose you?" he asked her, trying desperately to pin the blame on her volatile heart and not his. "Do you wish me to send you away?"

He was bluffing, but Jane did not provoke him.

"No, master."

"Do you wish to divide my house? To sunder your own home?"

"No, master."

"And yet you are not contrite?"

"Never."

"Jane," he sighed and stopped, rubbing the space between his eyes. "What is it then, that you want?"

She hesitated. Dare she make such a request? Dare she bare her soul to him anew and risk rejection?

The promise of pain threatened to overwhelm her.

And yet she rallied.

Abandoning protocol, she reached for Aro's hands. He gave them to her, hesitantly, his fingers brushing across her small knuckles.

Jane let him feel her desperation. Let it fall upon him in wave after relentless wave. His eyes, waxing red to black, widened as she shed her innocence.

Thoughts crossed between them. Dreams. She imagined them together, _together_, as they should be, her repressed lust brimming to the surface.

_Please_, she begged him, her nails causing hairline cracks along his granite flesh, _please understand._

"I want a kiss," she said it simply, softly, ignoring his startled expression. "I want you to kiss me, master, as I've longed to be kiss. _Please_."

Aro was entirely bewildered. "Jane-"

"You owe me this, at least. If I am to be condemned to this life, then give me one pleasure. One happy memory."

"And you will be satisfied?" He sounded incredulous. Uncertain and harried.

Jane felt a wave of hopelessness rush to her head. Would she be satisfied?

"Yes," she lied.

Aro looked over his shoulder, seemed to deliberate. For a moment, she feared he had turned into Orpheus and would forever turn his gaze away from her.

"This is unfortunate," he said at length. "What happened to your strength, Jane? I wish I could say you were misguided," Aro continued, knotting his fingers. There was a practical edge to him, something cool and sleek in the telling morning light. "But there is no hint of childish manipulation guarding your emotions."

_Childish!_ He had used that term purposefully. Jane knew he was trying to gently pry her heart away from his.

But it was impossible.

Perhaps it would have been better to love him from afar than face rejection, this deep, agonizing rejection.

She took a step back, wounded. _He is going to deny me. He is going to…_

But then he lunged forward and their lips were crushed together and she was falling, _falling…_

He lingered, only for an instant and his hesitation renewed her passion.

She tasted him.

A jolt. He pushed her back, roughly, angrily. "There," Aro panted. "There."

"Master." Her fingers brushed over her lips.

His eyes were mere slits. "Now let us be done with this."

She did not reply, the lie fresh in her conscience. They were not finished with this business. They never would be.

And now, perhaps, Aro understood.

* * *

*This line was taken directly from the song "Uninvited", written by Alanis Morissette for the _City of Angels_ soundtrack, 1998.


End file.
